


Lethe

by DoctorBilly



Series: Chimæra [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Billyverse, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>\'lē-thē\ : noun: forgetfulness, concealment, oblivion</p><p>This is a direct continuation from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2205123/chapters/4832097">The Other One</a></p><p>Best to read that first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scars, tattoos and all

"Why are you sitting in the dark, Lestrade?"

Sherlock's voice shocks Lestrade awake. He has been sitting at his desk, still in his coat, for the last two hours. His eyes have been fixed on a point somewhere between the desk and the door, his pen is fixed rigid in his cramped hand. He has not noticed the time passing. He has effectively been asleep with his eyes open.

"What?"

Sherlock switches on the light, and Lestrade screws his eyes shut against the brightness. His eyes are red-rimmed, and his face looks drawn and lined. He is showing every one of his fifty four years.

"You should go home, Lestrade. Get some sleep. You look frightful."

"Yeah. I know. I thought I'd finish up the paperwork, but…"

He gets up and looks out into the quiet, almost-empty main office.

"I see my lot have abandoned me. You'd think one of them would have given me a nudge."

"Hm. I saw Sergeant Donovan on my way in. I believe her words were ' _He nearly bit my head off when I tried to talk him into going home earlier. See if you have better luck.'_ I am willing to take the risk. You need to rest."

"I can't sleep, Sherlock. I keep seeing the explosion when I shut my eyes."

Lestrade rubs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, which does nothing to alleviate the dry itchiness of his eyelids. He blinks once or twice and notices that Sherlock is carrying something.

"What's that?"

He doesn't really need to ask. It is obvious by the shape what the plastic wrapper covers.

"Mycroft pulled strings and got this taken off the evidence list. He thought you might want to have it…to look after."

"He's back then?"

"Yes. But he will have to fly out again in a day or two. He wanted to see the complex with his own eyes. To see if the team had missed anything."

"And had they?"

"No. It was irrational of him to go."

Lestrade looks at the parcel. His chest feels a little tight.

"I want it. Of course I want it. But I can't look at it here."

He gestures Sherlock toward the stairs.

"I didn't bring the car. I don't want to take that on the tube…"

"Walk with me a little way. Clear your head a bit. Then we can get a cab."

"You're coming home with me?"

"Of course."

 

*********

 

Lestrade makes tea for Sherlock, coffee for himself.

"I could really do with something stronger, but it's likely to make me even more depressed. Let's get this over with."

He uses a kitchen knife to slit open the plastic wrapping, then gags as the smell of burnt leather catches him in the throat. He runs for the bathroom and retches, bringing up bile. When he returns to the sitting room, wiping his mouth, Sherlock has opened the window and poured him a glass of scotch.

"Thanks. Probably should eat something later. Didn't get round to having lunch today."

Lestrade bats Sherlock's hands away as he tries to help him remove the plastic from around the charred guitar case.

"Leave it. I can manage."

He finally gets the case free, and opens it. Inside, the turquoise Stratocaster is almost unharmed. There is a little discolouration of the finger plate, a little scorching, and the E string has melted on the bridge, but otherwise there is no damage.

He lifts the guitar carefully out of the case, cradles it in his arms, and cries.

Sherlock wraps his own long arms around Lestrade's shoulders and holds him.

After a while, Lestrade tenses, trying to get his emotions back under control. Sherlock lets him go and wanders to the kitchen to see if there is any food. Lestrade needs to eat. He finds bread and cheese, makes sandwiches.He gently takes the guitar away from Lestrade, hands him a plate.

As he replaces the guitar in its case, Sherlock notices the charred edge of a piece of paper poking out from under the lining. It is a sketch that Billy has hidden away. He eases it out carefully.

"Look, Lestrade. This is beautiful. The instrument was lying over it and protected it."

Lestrade takes the paper carefully, and smiles at the drawing.

"Scars, tattoos and all. That's what we said when we decided we'd try to make a go of it again."

The sketch is of two male nudes; one full-frontal, Lestrade, with his scars and heliotrope tattoo rendered lovingly. The other, Billy. Half-turned away, mouth against Lestrade's temple, hand splayed across Lestrade's heart, pale, scarred skin marking the exit wound from a bullet, and obliterating part of his angel-wing.

Lestrade puts the picture down carefully.

"It's been nearly forty eight hours. Arkady would have got a message out somehow by now…"

"It is not looking hopeful."

Lestrade looks carefully at Sherlock. Notices he is crying silently.

"Sherlock. Are you and Arkady still…?"

"No. No. Arkady is my friend, but Billy is…Billy is my brother, Greg."

"What? Since when?"

Sherlock sniffs.

"Since he was born. Ob…obviously."

"Well, yeah. Obviously. I meant, when did you find out?"

"When he turned up in London. After he was sent down from Cambridge. I saw so many echoes of myself in him. I researched him."

"But he didn't know? And you left him on the streets…"

"There were very good reasons for doing that, Greg, harsh as it seems. Mycroft engaged you to watch him…"

"Yeah. But he didn't tell me he was your brother. Gods. He's Mycroft's brother as well."

"Yes. Of course he is. Technically, he is our half brother. We have the same father."

"Does your father know he's got another son? Did the mother tell him? No, this is too weird, Sherlock. Your dad doesn't seem the type…"

"Ah. No, Lestrade. The man you have in mind is my stepfather. Mine and Mycroft's. Our actual father, and Billy's, is Siger Holmes."

"Siger Holmes. He knows…"

"Yes. And he has been hunting him, but we don't know what for. Mycroft is assuming it has to do with the chimerism, or the X chromosome problem, but that is not necessarily the case. Siger is cruel and vindictive."

"Siger blew up the complex."

"Yes."

"Did he know Billy was there?"

"I believe so."

"So he didn't care if he was killed. His own son."

"He would have been happy if I had been there too. And Mycroft. He has tried to destroy all of us before now."

"Why?"

"I do not know. Mycroft has theories."

"Does Billy know he's a Holmes? He never mentioned it."

"Mycroft told him in Lausanne. I believe it may have been after you left. He was understandably upset. I have never known Mycroft to allow anyone to shout at him before."

"Was he planning to change his name?"

"No. He was emphatic that he was Dr Bill _Wiggins_. He had no plans to change that."

"Good for him."

Sherlock smiles.

"Yes. His achievements are his own. Don't give up hope just yet, Greg. Give it another day, at least."

"Yeah. Another day. All right."

Lestrade picks up the drawing again.

"At least I know he wanted us to be together. I've got that to hold on to."


	2. Electra Glide in Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villeurbanne, France
> 
> Billy H Wiggins is in danger and can't go home.

Billy lies on the bed, shivering and exhausted. He wraps himself in Arkady's fur coat and tries hard to sleep, but it is impossible. He has been awake for two nights and a day, terrified that someone is following them, will find them.

The first night and half the next day he spent running after Arkady; backtracking, jumping on and off buses and trains, setting false trails. They staggered into a cheap chain hotel late in the day, and Arkady kept Billy busy during the evening and part of the night, using the sewing kit that he always carries in his bag.

Not for its usual use of adding lace or buttons to vests or t-shirts, but in heavier work, cutting a foot from the hem of his grey overcoat, stitching a new hem carefully, pressing it neatly, and with difficulty, with the trouser press provided in the hotel bedroom.

Billy is alone now, in the anonymous beige room. Arkady has locked him in and left him. He doesn't know where he has gone.

Eventually, he drifts into restless sleep.

When he wakes, Arkady is back. Grinning, laden down with shopping bags, wearing Billy's altered coat.

"I wasn't sure you'd come back."

"You are still afraid, Billi. It will pass."

"What have you got in the bags?"

"Food, medicine and surprises."

"I'm not sure I like surprises much…"

"Food first, in any case. You must eat."

Arkady pulls croissants from one bag, soft cheese and smoked ham from another. Milk from a third.

"There is no way to heat the pastries, but they are edible cold."

He boils the kettle, makes hot chocolate with half and half milk and boiling water, sugar and cocoa powder from sachets provided in the room. Billy eats like a starved man, picking up the escaped crumbs of pastry with a dampened fingertip.

He looks at Arkady appraisingly.

"My coat looks good on you." He frowns. "I'm worried about wearing yours, though. It's a bit distinctive."

"You will not have to. I have something more appropriate. I will show you in a moment. First, let me see your stitches."

Billy pulls up his vest. Arkady looks carefully at the wound, left from surgery billy had undergone a few days before. It is clean, doesn't look infected, but it is healing slowly, and a stitch has popped. Arkady has bought surgical glue, and he applies it carefully, then covers the wound with an adhesive dressing.

While he is dressing the wound, he looks carefully at the parts of Billy's body he can see.

"You are too thin. You must eat more."

"I like being thin."

"I know, Billi. But too thin is not healthy. You will have low resistance."

He touches Billy's gunshot scar gently. Billy flinches.

"Don't…"

"This was close range…"

"Yeah. About three feet. Smashed my ribs. I've got a chest full of titanium mesh now. I'll set off alarms at airports."

"I do not plan for us to fly anywhere, Billi. It is hard to get off a plane in a hurry."

"Yeah. But we need to get back to Paris, then. Or Le Havre."

"Why?"

"To get home. Ferry. Or Eurostar…"

"You cannot go home yet, Billi. We do not know our situation. It might be dangerous to go straight to a Channel port, and your enemies know where you live in London."

"I didn't think. Where will we go, then?"

"I do not know yet. We are on our own for now. No contact with anyone we know."

"You took my phone, didn't you?"

"Da. Yes. We could be tracked. GPS. Our phones will be found in Lausanne. If they were not destroyed in the explosion."

"Greg will think I'm dead."

"It is possible he will. He has thought it before, I think."

"Yeah. You've read my file. Sherlock said I should ask to see it."

"You know everything that is in it. I may ask questions."

"I might answer them."

Arkady smiles.

"You do not really trust me yet."

"Not yet. What's in the other bags?"

"Disguises. If we are searched for, they will look for a very tall dark haired man and a blond in a fur coat. They will not find them."

Arkady takes boxes out of a plastic carrier bag. Hair dye.

"You will be hard to hide, so we will make you more visible. It will take time, so we must start now."

He waves Billy into the bathroom and sets about transforming him.

 

*********

 

Billy looks in the full-length mirror, doesn't recognise himself. He is still tall, still has sea-glass eyes, but that is all that is left of the old Billy.

His hair is fiery red. It has taken hours to dye, his natural black bleached white first, then the red over-dying the bleach. Arkady has dyed his eyebrows and eyelashes too, very carefully. Billy's skin is very pale. Red hair does not look unnatural on him.

He wears heavy motorcycle boots. Black leather trousers, tight on the thighs, padded at hip and knee, tucked into the boots. A black leather motorcycle jacket over the heavy oatmeal jumper Arkady made him put on before they left Lausanne finishes the look. He wears his own skinny jeans under the leather trousers, his lace-trimmed vest under the jumper. Arkady has bought him gloves and a helmet, too. All black, apart from a full-face blue-tinted visor.

"It looks well on you."

"How did you know what sizes to get?"

"When we first met, you accused me of being a detective…"

Arkady has transformed himself, too. His white-blond hair is now a rich brown buzz cut. Billy gasps when he sees it. It reminds him of Lestrade, when he had first met him, before his hair had turned to silver. The similarity is striking. Only Arkady's bright blue eyes give him away.

Arkady has chosen oiled cotton motorcycle clothing. A long fleece-lined jacket, with many pockets. Loose overtrousers with braces. Boots, gloves and helmet are similar to Billy's, apart from the helmet visor, which is clear. It will darken in bright sunlight.

"All we need now is a bike." Billy tries hard to smile. He is jittery. "I hope you know how to ride one. I don't."

Arkady laughs. He is more at home on a motorcycle than any other form of transport.

"It is outside. We must pack things tightly, to fit into the panniers. Our coats we will roll up and secure on the rack behind the pillion, and you will wear a backpack."

"I'm glad we don't have to leave our coats. I'd feel stupid in this gear all the time."

Arkady grins.

"You will not feel stupid on the motorcycle. And no one will expect you to look like this. You must draw a picture to show your friends when you get home."

"When's that likely to be, Kady?"

"I do not know, Billi."

Billy looks at all the stuff Arkady has bought. Realises a motorcycle could not have been cheap.

"Did you use your own credit card for all this?"

"No. I have a card from Mycroft. Using it will have alerted him. It could be someone else using it, of course, so he will not definitely know it is me."

Billy remembers something. His eyes widen in excitement.

"I've got one, too. He gave me a card for an expense account I shared with Greg. It was a few years ago, but if it still works, I can use it to get a message to him."

"What message?"

"We always took £200 out when we needed cash. When I was kidnapped, I used it, took £200 out. They guessed it was me. That I was all right. I could try it again. It would have to be Euros, but €200 would send the same message."

"Good. We will try it, once we have slept for a few hours. But no phone calls, no emails. Nothing that can be monitored by enemies."

 

*********

 

Arkady straightens up. He has packed panniers, top box and Billy's new rucksack full to bursting. Their overcoats are rolled up around Billy's despatch bag, shoved inside a large plastic carrier bag. The whole parcel is fastened with bungee straps to the steel rack on the top-box lid.

"Ready?"

Billy nods apprehensively. He has been on the pillion of a motorcycle before. Lestrade has one, an old Triumph Tiger 500cc, and has taken Billy out on it once or twice.

Arkady's choice is bigger, more powerful. A Harley Davidson Electra Glide. 1500 cc engine. It is not brand new; that would draw too much attention. Some dents and scrapes make it look well-used, will make its riders look well-travelled. Billy is terrified at the thought of just climbing on to it. He laughs nervously at Arkady's flamboyance. Life will not be dull with this man.

Arkady settles himself in the saddle, switches on the engine. It purrs throatily. Billy swallows, takes a deep breath and climbs into the pillion seat, holds on to Arkady's waist.

Arkady opens up the throttle. They are on the move.

 

*********

 

**To: SH: Yegorov has bought a Harley Davidson motorcycle and two sets of motorcycle clothing in Villeurbanne. MH**

**To: MH: Typically understated. Contact yet? SH**

**To: SH: No. Be patient. MH**

**To: GL: €200 was withdrawn from your Scottish expense account this evening. MH**

**To: MH: He got out. Thank God. GL**


	3. Vivat Regina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geneva; London
> 
> Sherlock doesn't believe in miracles

Mycroft's assistant parks the car in the VIP carpark. He waits for his employer to decide whether he needs him to accompany him, or wait with the car. 

Mycroft considers his options. Decides that he would rather have the security of an extra pair of eyes with him.

"Jamie, you will accompany me, and remain on guard outside the room. Do not allow anyone to enter."

The assistant nods, and follows Mycroft into the building. They take the stairs to the first floor. The room Mycroft is heading for is at the far end of the corridor. It is bright and airy, with windows on three sides. One window, next to the door, opens onto the corridor. The other two give panoramic views of the surroundings. The mountains look very close and the air is very clear. The assistant stations himself outside the door, in a position where he can see the door to the stairs, the lift and the duty nurse's desk. Mycroft enters the room alone.

Sergeant Queenie Fletcher lies on a water bed, which wobbles alarmingly whenever she tries to move. Both her hands are heavily bandaged, as are her right arm and both legs. Her left arm appears to have escaped damage, and her neck and face are also free of injury. She has a stockinette cap on her head, holding a gauze pad above her left ear. Her hair is cut short on that side. Her torso is bandaged heavily. 

She is watching a news programme on TV, the volume low, and looks up as Mycroft opens the door. She looks surprisingly cheerful for someone with so many injuries. The last time he had seen her she had been heavily sedated. Mycroft realises she has been given a lot of morphine for her pain.

"Hello, my dear. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit, sir, if you'll excuse my language. They won't tell me anything. Is the Colonel all right?"

Her voice is low and husky from smoke damage. Mycroft smiles tightly. 

"I will give you what information I can, Queenie. And I hope you will be able to give me some in return."

Queenie licks her lips and swallows, painfully. 

"I'll take your lack of an instant response as a no then, shall I, sir?"

Mycroft sighs. 

"Queenie, what can you tell me about the attack?"

"Not much, sir. She got your warning, and we went to Kristof's lab to check he was okay. One of the flasks was missing, and so was Kristof. Anthea reckoned he must have been starting to move them. She gave me one to carry and we went after him."

"Why only take one?"

"They're heavy, sir. And she needed to be able to use her guns. We went down the ramp to the foyer, and I saw Kristof heading outside. Anthea went after him, and I started to follow, and someone shot me. That's the last I knew. Woke up here. Seems I got a bang on the head, somewhere along the way, and a bit burned. I've seen the news footage sir. It looks bad."

"Hmm. Queenie, have you been given details of your injuries?"

"Yes, sir. Blunt force trauma to skull. Gunshot wound to left chest. Bastard pierced one of my implants. That's going to cause trouble. Contact burns on both legs from my braces, and both hands, from the flask, they think. My arm was exposed to flame. Ruined my tattoo. I'll be off my feet for a while, sir."

"Indeed. Would you like to be repatriated? Or are you happy to remain in Switzerland for a while?"

"I'll stay here if it's okay, sir. It's nice and quiet. Clean air. The Colonel, sir?"

"No news at present, Queenie. But you said she was heading outside after Dr Leppälä?"

"Yes sir. You haven't positively identified her body?"

"No. Dr Leppälä was found outside, alone. He had been shot dead. There were fifteen bodies inside the complex. All badly burned."

"There were fifteen of us in the building. You've accounted for two. So you have at least two intruders. No news of anyone getting out?"

"No. All personnel are presumed dead. You are the only known survivor. I'm very sorry, Queenie."

*********

**To: XX: QF alive and non-critical in Hofstetter Clinic, Geneva. Reconstructive surgery and recuperation required. Estimate 8 weeks. XX**

**To: XX: Acknowledged. XX**

*********

Sherlock and Mycroft are sharing a rare afternoon tea in the garden of Mycroft's town house in Fitzrovia. Sherlock stretches his legs out on the terrace, feels the warmth of the early spring sun warming him through his trouser legs. It makes a change not to be dressed for snow. A passer-by might think the two brothers were having a friendly chat over Victoria sponge and Earl Grey.

"So, Queenie knows nothing."

"Indeed. She was knocked out before the building was hit. It is miraculous that she survived."

"I don't believe in miracles, Mycroft. And neither do you. Someone made sure she was not killed."

"You think she was outside when the rockets hit."

"Yes, and placed in the foyer entrance to be found. Obviously, it was very hot, hence the contact burns. Did the bullet taken from her wound match the one that killed Leppälä?"

"Yes. Both were from a handgun issued to Colonel Smith."

"You think Anthea got away. With a flask. Why hasn't she contacted us?"

"I do not know, Sherlock. Perhaps she did not leave willingly."

"Or she left willingly with her own agenda."

"Yes. Perhaps. I am concerned that she seems to have fired her weapon at Queenie. Or allowed herself to be disarmed and someone else fired the shots. I am assuming that she got away, Sherlock. Or was taken away. Will you try to trace her?"

"Yes. Please keep an eye on John for me. He cannot be part of this, and he will be upset at being left behind again."

"Of course. You will have all the support you need. You need not be alone on this."

"Thanks, Mycroft. I prefer to go alone. I will stay in touch, and I will not hesitate to call for backup if I need it."

Sherlock stands, puts on his coat and leaves.

Mycroft sips his tea and thinks. Circumstances have changed dramatically. There are new plans to be made.


	4. Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> London
> 
> John Watson needs help

When John first wakes up, he doesn't know where he is.

It is dark. It is chilly, but not so cold that it is really uncomfortable. It is damp. He can smell the mouldiness of a room that doesn't get used much.

His head aches. It _really_ aches. He lifts his hand to his face. His eye socket feels puffy and painful. He works his tongue around the inside of his mouth. A tooth rocks a little. Not exactly loose, but a little more give than he thinks is right. His throat hurts. And his hand. He flexes it. Stiff, but nothing broken. Feels a little swollen. Skin feels a little tight.

As he gets used to the darkness, he begins to see glimmers of the edges of things. Wardrobe. Bed. He recognises the texture of the rug he is lying on.

"Home. Good."

He feels his way to the window, hunched over, the pull on his belly, back and balls making him gasp and sweat when he tries to stand up straight. Getting to his feet at all almost makes him pass out.

He opens the curtains a crack to let the yellow light from the street lamps in. He needs to reorient himself. He isn't sure if he has knocked anything over, broken anything, dropped anything that might be dangerous if he steps on it, a glass or a bottle, perhaps.

He isn't quite sure that he is alone in the flat. Best to take it slowly.

He breathes deeply, feels his nose stinging.

He hobbles very slowly to the bathroom, the throbbing pain between his legs making him stop and pant for breath after every step. He pulls the light cord and fluorescent brightness floods the room. He needs to pee, but can only manage a trickle, and it is bloody.

He strips slowly and checks himself over in the long mirror on the back of the door.

Left eye blackened, swollen and puffy. He'd guessed that. His nose is swollen, too, but doesn't look or feel broken. He has a split in his lip that opens up and starts to bleed when he opens his mouth to check his teeth. Just the one slightly loosened. He knows it will firm up, resettle itself in the socket if he leaves it alone, but he can't stop himself from poking at it with his tongue.

His neck is bruised. Old bruises. He frowns. Looks carefully at his face. There is some yellow discolouration around the edges of the purpling eye socket. A black eye on top of another black eye. He remembers these bruises, remembers hiding them from Lestrade. Doesn't remember why he felt the need to do that. Doesn't remember how he got them.

His left hand is sore and swollen, and there are fresh grazes on the knuckles of his right hand. There are older, mostly-healed grazes too. He remembers hiding those, too.

His testicles are black. Swollen and hurting so much that it is hard for him to think around the pain. There is a bruise on his thigh that can only have come from being kicked, hard. He turns sideways, carefully. Boot marks on his back.

"Evidence. Sherlock will be able to find out who did this."

He doesn't shower. There might be trace evidence on him. Spit, or skin cells on his face or in his hair. He folds his clothes into a neat bundle. He wraps himself loosely in his dressing gown, finds his phone and sends a text.

**To: SH: Can you come over? Could use your help on something. JW**

There is no reply. John frowns. Tries someone else.

**To: GL: Is Sherlock with you? JW**

The reply comes quickly

**To: JW: No. Doing something for his brother, I think. GL**

**To: GL: I think I've been beaten up, Greg. Can you help me? JW**

**To: JW: You *think* you've been beaten up? GL**

**To: GL: Bootprints on my back. Pissing blood. I might need help to get to hospital. Can't walk well. I'm at my flat. JW**

**To: JW: On my way. GL**

 

*********

 

" _Tell me again, Gregor. There are things that do not make sense."_

"He's taken a serious kicking. Back, head, bollocks. Nasty. His hand's been kicked, and stamped on. There's two separate bruises. He doesn't remember any of it, he says. Woke up on his living room floor, but the attack must have been outside, somewhere. Gravel and brick dust in the scrapes. He'd tried texting Sherlock for help before he sent a message to me. He'd forgotten he was out of the country."

" _He got himself home…_ "

"I don't think so. Not with his balls in that state. I had to carry him to the car."

" _Is his hand badly damaged?_ "

"No. Just bruised. Why?"

" _It's his left hand. Gregor. His dominant hand. Why would someone kick, then stamp on his dominant hand?"_

Lestrade forms a mental image.  _Boot prints on his back. He is on the floor, face down, his dominant hand gets stamped on. What is missing from this picture?_

"Someone didn't want him using his gun. I need to get back to his flat. See if it's there."

" _It is unlikely that you will find it there, if it was kicked out of his hand in the street. The question is, had he used it ?"_

"There could be a shooting victim somewhere. Mycroft, how did he get home?"

" _It is a puzzle. Sherlock would find it interesting, but of course, I need not tell you he is not to be involved in this investigation."_

"He won't be happy about being kept out."

" _I am counting on_ _that_."

"He'll involve himself. Think he's outsmarting me. Okay. When will he be back from wherever you've sent him?"

" _A few more days. Gregor, I am going to have John moved to a private clinic. This is the first time he has been injured badly enough to require hospitalisation. I will speak to his doctors. In the meantime, I would like you to begin working on a series of cold cases…"_

"You want me to go through his file again. Looking for what?"

" _Similarities, patterns. Start from the most recent incident…_ "

"I'll do it my way, Mycroft."

" _Very well, Gregor. I will arrange for access to relevant papers…_ "

"Full access, Mycroft. I want details of the first two incidents you said went unreported. And anything else that's missing. I don't need missing puzzle pieces here."

" _Of course._ "

" _That was too quick, and too easy. Full access, Mycroft. Or I won't do it."_

Lestrade hears Mycroft's sigh at the other end of the phone line.

" _Very well. But only for you. You must not involve your team."_

"I've still got my own job to do. If you want this looked at quickly…"

" _Delegate. Sergeant Donovan is very capable…_ "

"No. I won't leave a hole in my team again so soon. And if you want Sherlock to think I'm working normally, I need to _be_ working normally. At least most of the time. I want to draft someone in to help me with this. Someone who's already demonstrated that he can keep his mouth shut."

" _Are you sure, Gregor? He is settled in and doing well in Manchester."_

"I want him seconded to my personal command. And offered the chance of a permanent return to the Yard at his current rank when it's all over. If he wants it, of course."

" _If he refuses?"_

"I hope he won't."

" _Very well. Will you call him?"_

"No. I'll go up to see him. Can't do much with John while he's being poked about."

" _I will arrange a car for you. When would you like to leave?"_

"Now's as good a time as any. I'll let you know what he says."


	5. Cold Case (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manchester
> 
> Lestrade visits an old friend

Lestrade strolls into the office building where his friend works.

They have kept in touch over the past couple of years, by email mainly, and not that frequently. A lot of Lestrade's work during that time has been restricted access, not openly reported, and he hasn't been able to talk about it much, even to friends within the force.

Trafford Police is obviously smaller than the Met, less prestigious, and Lestrade had been sorry to lose a valued colleague and a close personal friend to what he thinks of as "the sticks". He hopes to be able to persuade him to come back to New Scotland Yard. He needs a DI he can trust.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yes. I'm looking for DI Dimmock."

"One moment, sir."

The duty sergeant bustles off down a corridor, sticks his head into what is obviously a rest room.

"Anyone seen Daisy? Chap here to see him."

"Canal Street" someone shouts. "Is it his boyfriend?"

There is a burst of ribald laughter from the room.

Lestrade smiles very dangerously when the sergeant returns.

"He's out, sir."

Lestrade pulls his warrant card out and waves it in front of the sergeant.

"DCI Lestrade, Serious Crimes, New Scotland Yard. I need to know the whereabouts of Detective Inspector Dimmock. Please don't keep me waiting too long. And tell your DCI I'd like a word. Now."

He leans against the desk, arms folded. Takes a raking look around, eyes coming to rest on a pudgy man in a beige suit who approaches, accompanied by the sergeant.

"Lestrade? Heard of you. DCI Craddock. My office…" Craddock gestures for Lestrade to precede him. "What can I do for you?"

"You can explain how it is that a bunch of your coppers can make homophobic remarks about a Detective Inspector under your command, in front of a visitor."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Lestrade."

"I'm equally sure you do, Craddock."

Craddock blusters, trying to out-talk Lestrade, who gets in his space, crowding him against his desk, dropping his voice menacingly.

"You're privileged to have Dimmock on your team, Craddock. I was proud to call him a colleague when he worked with me at the Yard. I expect your clear-up rate would drop alarmingly if he felt he had to leave you…"

"We can do without poofters here. I know you lot at Scotland Yard seem to like them…"

Lestrade leans in closer, increasing Craddock's discomfiture. He growls.

"You're on shaky ground, Craddock. Be careful you don't land on your arse. I expect to hear through the grapevine that there have been disciplinaries. If not…"

He tails off as he hears a stifled cough from behind him. Dimmock has come in and is more than surprised to see his DCI red-faced, nose to nose, almost, with his ex-boss.

"Greg?"

Lestrade spins on his heel. Grins.

"Theo. Good to see you. I need a word. Your office?"

Dimmock nods, smiling. Starts to walk away down the corridor. Lestrade looks back.

"Disciplinaries, Craddock. Don't forget."

He follows Dimmock to his office. Dimmock's desk and chair take up most of the space in the tiny room. Lestrade sprawls in the only other chair, his feet almost up against the door.

"Cosy."

Dimmock laughs.

"Used to be a broom cupboard, I think. God, you look great, Greg. How are you?"

"I'm good, T. You? Caught a few snarky remarks."

"The work's different. I don't get to cover fraud and embezzlement any more. No travelling. Crime scenes are…. I get anything that has a gay victim or suspect. It's getting to me a bit. There's a lot of homophobia…"

"Including from your DCI, I noticed."

"Was that what the standoff was about? I don't need trouble, Greg."

"Come back to the Yard, Theo."

"I wish I could, but I burned my bridges a bit there."

"I'm doing a job for Mycroft. Cold case. Big. I need you to help me with it, T. You'd work directly to me. Only on this job. When it's done, you get the option to come back, as DI in my team. What do you say?"

"What's the case?"

"Tell you over dinner. Your place?"

"Yeah. All right. You cook. I'll buy the beer."

"Done."

*********

Lestrade flops back on Dimmock's squashy sofa. He feels comfortably full, pleasantly buzzed after a couple of beers.

"How's your love life, T?"

"Pretty much non-existent for the last year or so. We tried to keep it going, but it's hard, long-distance. What with his shifts at the fire-station, and me being pretty much permanently on call, we hardly saw each other. It was good while it lasted. I haven't been looking for anyone new, to be honest. I'm actually quite enjoying being on my own. How about you? You still with Bill?"

"Yeah, sort of. It's a bit complicated at the moment. He's doing something a bit hush-hush. Don't know when he'll be back. I miss him."

Lestrade tries not to let his worry about Billy show. He can't talk to Dimmock about it in any case.

Dimmock sits opposite him on a battered armchair. He leans forward and looks him in the eye. He knows there is something he doesn't want to talk about. Knows when not to push.

"So. What's this case you want me to work on? You've been putting off telling me. Waiting till the beer sets in? You know I've never been able to say no to you when I've had a few."

Lestrade laughs. Ignores the innuendo.

"Lightweight."

Dimmock giggles.

"Talk to me, Greg."

"Okay. But if you decide not to take it on, you have to give me your word you will not breathe a word to _anyone_. Same if you do take it on, actually. It's eyes-only files. Only you and I will be working on it. Reporting to Mycroft."

Dimmock scowls. He and Mycroft Holmes have a very formal, quite prickly relationship.

"I'm surprised he wants me on it."

"I asked for you. And he reluctantly agreed you were the best man for the job. I won't beat about the bush, Theo. We'll be looking at a series of odd incidents that have been happening around one man. He's been a victim in some, a perpetrator in others. Some are pretty minor. One at least is major. I've asked for access to some missing information for you and me. Mycroft has misgivings, but he has agreed. Theo, we're going to be looking for common reasons, patterns, for the events in the file. As part of the investigation, we'll be reopening your case against John Watson."

Dimmock blanches, bile flooding his mouth. He thinks he might be sick.

"No, Greg. Please. I've tried to forget that. I don't want the Yard crawling all over it now."

"Not the Yard, Theo. Just you and me. That's partly why I wanted you on it. I don't want anyone else involved. You won't need to go into the Yard until you're ready. Or at all, if you don't want to."

"Partly why? What else?"

"You're a bloody good detective, Theo. Better than me in some ways. I need your skills."

"You said the cases all involve one man. Are they all Watson? Has he done it to other people?"

"There's no single MO. And as I said, he's been a victim in some of them. But yes, they're all John."

"Greg. If you're investigating Watson, Sherlock will know. You know he will."

"Yeah. Probably. But he's out of the country at the moment. By the time he gets back, I hope we'll have evidence to convince him to help, rather than hinder. You get on all right with Sherlock, don't you? You two made your peace after…"

"I didn't see much of him afterwards. But I didn't think, I _don't_ think it was his fault. He seemed genuinely shocked at the time. But it didn't stop him taking him back, did it? I don't know, Greg."

"Sleep on it. Let me know in the morning. I've got to go back first thing. I hope you'll come with me."

"I can't just up sticks and go, Greg. What about my work here? And I haven't got anywhere to live in London."

"Mycroft will sort out your transfer, effective immediately if you agree. And you can stay with me. Or on the SeaGlass. Billy's not using it at the moment. We need to start work on this really quickly, T. "

"Okay. I'll think it over. Probably won't be able to sleep anyway."

Dimmock cracks open two more beers, hands one to Lestrade.

"Have you got anywhere booked for the night?"

"No. Thought I'd doss down on your sofa. If that's all right with you."

"Yeah. I'll get you some blankets. And you can make breakfast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dimmock's case against John Watson is described in [Lacuna](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1937112/chapters/4197555), part 2 of the [Sea Glass and Tattoos](http://archiveofourown.org/series/124692) series.


	6. Cold Case (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> London
> 
> Dimmock has agreed to help Lestrade investigate John Watson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refer to some "BBC canon" events, but I have taken some liberties with them. And the dates.

Lestrade hauls Dimmock's suitcase down the short gangplank to the SeaGlass. He hasn't been able to ask Billy if it will be all right for Dimmock to stay on the boat, but is sure it will be okay. Billy and Dimmock are good friends, even though they haven't seen each other for a while. Lestrade doesn't have a spare bedroom in his own flat, and while sleeping on the sofa would be all right for a few days, it would not be a good solution for anything longer term.

Dimmock takes a little time to refamiliarise himself with the cooker and wood-burning stove controls. It is still chilly enough to need a fire lit in the evenings. It has been a long time since he has been a visitor here, a much longer time since he has lived here, but nothing has really changed. The wood floors have been stained and varnished a little darker, there is a bright rug on the floor in the sitting room and a new dark-brown sheepskin on the bed, replacing the off-white one he had slept under now and then. Otherwise, everything is familiar.

Lestrade makes coffee, sits at the kitchen table to drink his while Dimmock unpacks.

"Can't bring any papers here, T. It's not secure enough, even with Mycroft's cameras everywhere."

"There are cameras? Where?"

"Mainly the outside, the decks and wheelhouse. There is one that I know about in here, over the desk on the little mezzanine there."

He points to the bookshelf above Billy's roll-top desk.

"He caved in and said he'd let that one stay. And there's more CCTV units in the area round the boat than you'd get on most street corners. I haven't quite figured out all the reasons why yet."

He laughs.

"You should have heard the rows when Bill found a camera in his bedroom. Mycroft assures me it's been removed. Nothing in the bathroom either."

"Good. Not sure I'd be happy about Mycroft's people watching me shower."

Dimmock scowls.

"So, if I can't bring files here, where do I work? You said I wouldn't have to go into the Yard…"

"You can download stuff onto your laptop once it's been swept and some security software installed. And you can keep your own notes. I know you like to make lists and stuff. Physical case files are at my place. You'll need to spend a lot of time there, I expect. I wish I had a spare room, it would have made things easier for you."

"It'll be all right, Greg. I'll need somewhere where I can get away from it, I expect. I'll get the DeLorean out of storage, won't take long to get from here to yours in that."

"I still think that's a ridiculous car."

"I like it. I've missed it, you know. I've gone a bit colourless since being out of London. A bit stifled. Sherlock told me once I ought to get a Klein blue suit. I might take his advice."

Lestrade frowns

"Have you been okay, though? When you asked for a transfer I wasn't sure whether you really meant it. It was such a long time after…"

"I thought I'd got over it. I think I just pushed it down, you know? But it wouldn't go away. Do you remember the last case I worked for the Yard? The Thompsons?"

"Yeah. Double murder. Twin sisters…" 

"I couldn't crack it. I'd kept Sherlock off my crime scenes since Billy… I had to call him in. And he wouldn't come without Watson."

Dimmock goes quiet, stares into space for long enough to make Lestrade worry.

"T'éo …"

"It's all right, no need to go all French on me. It threw me, Greg. I couldn't talk to him. Couldn't stand having him there, and I knew it would be worse the next time. That's when I knew I had to get away. If I couldn't have got a transfer I would have left the force."

"That would have been a terrible loss to us. And a bad thing for you. You're a great detective, Theo. I want us to get this cracked and get you back where you belong. I'll be retiring in a few years. I'd kind of like to hand over to you."

Dimmock smiles weakly.

"We'll see what happens. Do I have to report to Mycroft?"

"Not today. He's in Switzerland, interviewing a person of interest. He should be back in a couple of days. You should probably look through the initial set of files he gave me. I'm expecting new stuff any time now. We'll go through that together."

"All right. Give me a lift to the garage so I can pick up the car. Then I'll meet you at your place. Might as well make a start."

 

*********

 

Dimmock sighs, rubs his eyes. He has been staring at close-typed descriptions of incidents for hours, trying to make sense of the information.

"You said there were gaps?"

"Yeah. Two incidents in the last six days, two early incidents, before any of these, according to Mycroft. One fairly recent in Switzerland. Queenie, our tech officer. The incident with her hasn't found its way into the report yet."

"But you know about it…"

"Yeah. I witnessed it. It didn't get to the point of violence. But it could have done, if the circumstances had been a little different."

"All right. How do you think it might have turned out if it had gone beyond verbal?"

"I think he'd have got hurt."

Dimmock raises an eyebrow.

"Oh. Really? You think a techie… a _female_ techie could take him on?"

"Queenie's a bit special. She's an ex-army sergeant, trained. Fit, apart from the obvious. Still got a bit of muscle on her."

"But still a woman. And what's the _obvious_?"

"She's paraplegic, can't miss that. She has a little bit of mobility with leg braces. And she's trans, T. That's not so obvious at first glance. Body frame's heavy for a woman, shoulders are a bit wide. Upper body's really strong, she keeps herself in good shape. I shook hands with her when I first met her, and she used her grip on me as leverage to pull herself up out of her wheelchair. Bloody near crushed my hand. If he'd been in range, she'd have decked him, no trouble, even from her chair."

"So what actually happened?"

"He questioned her life choices. As good as told her she wasn't a "real" woman. Called her relationship with her girlfriend into question. It was nasty to listen to. I got between them, dragged him away to cool off. She reported him to Mycroft. When he called him in, he denied having said anything to her. Denied that he had a problem with her gender or sexuality, denied even seeing her that day. Mycroft's good at reading people, T. He believed that he was telling the truth. Called me in to check whether Queenie had made the whole thing up for some reason."

"You backed her up…"

"Absolutely. But I think he really didn't remember it. I think there's something not right in his head."

"Is he in France, with Sherlock?"

"No. He's in a clinic. He got hurt two days ago, bad enough to be hospitalised. Sherlock doesn't know. It won't be pretty when he finds out."

Dimmock frowns.

"This timeline starts not long after Sherlock came back…"

"Yeah. But there's something earlier, according to Mycroft."

"So we're looking at December 2013 to February 2019. That's just over five years. Plus something earlier. Just the one incident earlier?"

"Mycroft only mentioned one. I think it might have been when I was suspended. I need to have a poke around. John wasn't talking to me then. Blamed me for Sherlock jumping. Did you hear about anything?"

Dimmock taps his pen against the list of incidents. Frowns. "No. But if it wasn't reported, I wouldn't have done. I was a bit more bound by procedure back then. Still trying to prove I deserved the job. Maybe something sets him off. What was happening around the times of the incidents we have definite information on?" He starts to make a list.

 

 

*********

 

 

"Sherlock came back in December 2013. You were the first to see him, weren't you?"

"Apart from Mycroft, you mean? No, it was Billy. I was asleep. Sherlock broke into our house and climbed into bed with me. Caused a lot of trouble. Thing is, John was actually in my house when he came back. He'd come up for Christmas. Sherlock didn't know. Billy ran off, and I went after him. Left John and Sherlock to sort themselves out. They'd obviously been fighting when I saw them a couple of hours later, but I was preoccupied trying to calm Billy down, I didn't ask any questions."

"So there was violence then, triggered by Sherlock coming back. He must have been angry that Sherlock didn't show himself to him first. That might be significant."

"Could be. It was a big shock. I kind of thought Sherlock had asked for it… But T, everyone was being violent then. Even _Mycroft_ popped one on him."

"He'd been tortured, hadn't he?"

"Yeah. He had a lot of scars…"

"And he thought you'd welcome him back."

"I would have done, if he hadn't upset Billy. I did, once I'd calmed down."

"Yeah. Then there was the business at New Year. You were out of action for a fair while. Greg, that was a big deal. You were John's friend, and you came perilously close to dying. In a particularly bloody way. Didn't he act as consultant to your surgical team?"

"Yeah. That might have been stressful, I suppose."

Lestrade still has nightmares about that time. He isn't sure that it would have bothered John much, though. He was an army surgeon, after all. He'd seen worse.

Dimmock stands up and pops his spine bones. His back is aching, but he doesn't want to stop working yet. He thinks he is beginning to see a faint glimmer of something. Lestrade makes coffee, finds biscuits. They carry on. Dimmock takes a gulp of coffee, burns his mouth. The next incident on the list concerns him.

"Billy was kidnapped in April that year. John attacked me during the investigation. He didn't forget that though. He tried to apologise. As if that would make a difference."

"He didn't remember it. Not really." Lestrade's voice is flat. "He remembered the set-up story. He'd rehearsed that with Sherlock beforehand. He realised he must have got a bit carried away when he hit you, from everyone's reactions. That's all. Didn't remember the sexual assault. Said he would never do such a thing."

"He did, Greg. I didn't make that up."

Dimmock is visibly distressed. His injuries had been very bad.

"I know you didn't. I know it happened, T'éo. No one doubts your word."

"He was jealous about me spending a couple of nights with Sherlock. But he was engaged to Mary. Sherlock was lonely and miserable."

Dimmock tightens his jaw. Focuses on his sheets of paper.

"Let's see. December 2013, Sherlock comes back. He's hurt. He goes to you first, John gets a big shock, gets jealous."

Lestrade looks at the files.

"Two incidents missing between then and February. Sherlock's possibly under fire in France in that time. Sherlock in danger could be a trigger. Sherlock hurt could be a trigger. Jealousy over Sherlock could be a trigger."

Dimmock marks his notes. Red for Sherlock hurt, cliché green for possible jealousy.

"February could be related to something in France. March we know about, but not the trigger. April. Me. Jealousy. Oh, Sherlock took a dive into the Thames during that investigation. Danger."

He takes a deep breath.

"August, John got married. Sherlock spent the night with me, Greg. _Jealousy_? On his _wedding night?_ "

"Could be about Sherlock's hurt feelings. They're obsessed with each other, T."

"November. What happened in November 2014?"

Lestrade racks his brains. Remembers.

"I took Sherlock to a conference. Billy had left me by then, gone to Canada. We were away for three days."

Lestrade flushes. Sherlock had been needy, and he had been lonely. Dimmock notices the redness creeping up Lestrade's neck, raises an eyebrow.

"You and Sherlock? _Then_? Where was _I_?"

"In Belgium, probably. You were over there a lot that winter. You and me, we weren't an item then, T'éo. Not till the Christmas…"

"Yeah. Right. So, jealousy again?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. I got these around that time." Lestrade fingers the scars on his throat. "It really upset Sherlock. More than I expected it to."

Dimmock frowns.

"There's a big gap in 2015 and 16. We need Mycroft's files."

Lestrade nods.

"Yeah. We do. Must have been something big." He goes on "There were two more incidents in September 2016. Similar to the first two on the list. John moved out of Baker Street and into his flat in Highgate around then. Don't know how he can afford to live there…"

"I wonder what made him move out?"

"Don't know. Sherlock had a relapse in October 2016. Heroin as well as the cocaine. Might not have been from choice. That was after John had moved out, though."

Lestrade scratches his head, trying to recall events.

"Martha Hudson had a stroke in the August."

Dimmock marks the event, then adds red. Sherlock would have been very upset. Watson too, he supposes.

"Is Mrs Hudson okay now?"

"Yeah. She made a good recovery. But she had us all scared for a while. That brings us up to date, T."

"Switzerland?"

"Yeah. John and Sherlock were in Siberia for a while just before they got to Switzerland. I shouldn't really be telling you this, but it might be relevant. Don't tell Mycroft I told you. Sherlock got shot in the arm, just winged, but it got infected. And they got pulled out by an old flame of Sherlock's. Someone he was with when he was, well…dead."

"And the most recent incidents?"

"We've got him on CCTV, attacking a bloke. He fought back. Left marks that John tried to hide from me. The second incident left him badly hurt. He'd been beaten up. He might have used his gun. I'm working on that investigation. I asked him about the filmed attack, he doesn't remember it, or the one that left him injured. I believe he really doesn't remember it. Sherlock's abroad on his own again. And what he's doing is dangerous. That's all I can say about it."

"Okay. We need to see Mycroft's files. But it definitely looks like a pattern, doesn't it? Particular stresses seem to be setting something off. Can't see why Mycroft wouldn't have spotted this, though. Why does he need us?"

"He's probably too busy to spend time on it, and it concerns his brother, so he wouldn't want to let strangers see it."

Dimmock closes the files. Puts away his notes. Yawns massively.

"I think I'll make a move, Greg. I need to sleep on this. I think I might be starting to understand why he hurt me. But I can't forgive him for it. Don't judge me for that."

"T'éo. He hurt you. I can't forgive him either. I felt, still feel really bad letting everyone think I'd brushed it aside. Mycroft had me over a barrel. I had to act as if it wasn't as serious as I knew it really was. I hope you can forgive me for that."

"I never blamed you, Greg. I had some long chats with Mycroft myself. I know how he works. I never blamed Sherlock, either."

 

*********

 

Dimmock can't sleep. He gets up and gets his list out, looks at the actual incidents again. He isn't satisfied that stress, worry, jealousy over Sherlock is enough to trigger what seems to be some sort of periodic short term breakdown. There must be something else.

Dimmock is known for his attention to detail. It is what makes his case closure rate higher than anyone's but Sherlock-assisted Lestrade's. He doesn't believe in wild hunches. He thinks they are mental responses to unconsciously noted patterns of data. He sets out to uncover the data behind his hunch response.

He looks at the locations of the incidents, where they are known. There are seven documented incidents, of which four are Watson beating up men he has picked up in bars, one of the bars being in his honeymoon hotel, the other three in different parts of London. Two of the incidents are brawls, one at least started by Watson, both ending up with him being hurt. One of the brawls is at a colleague's wedding reception, one is in a bar, near the clinic he works at. The attack on Dimmock himself happened in a pub garden.

Dimmock looks at the notes he has made on the latest two incidents, that are not in the report. Watson attacked a man outside a bar in Highgate. The incident was caught on CCTV. He has no idea where the most recent incident took place.

He scrubs through his hair, goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth, to get rid of a sour taste in his mouth. He gets a glass of water and goes back to look at his notes again.

Alcohol. Alcohol could be the trigger. Queenie Fletcher seems to be the only one that has no connection to alcohol that he can see.

 

*********

 

" _T'éo, are you all right, mate? What is it?_ "

"Sorry, Greg. Forgot it was still the middle of the night. Can you remember if Watson had anything to drink the night he had a go at Queenie Fletcher?"

" _Yeah. We had a bit of a party. We'd all been wound up for days. Queenie had got this clear absinthe. I think I had about a teaspoon of it. Bill wouldn't even try it. Sherlock was a bit pissed off. He was on antibiotics, couldn't join in the tasting. Had a bit of a row with John because he thought he should have abstained in solidarity._ "

Dimmock smiles grimly.

"Every one of the documented incidents happened in or very near a pub or a hotel bar. The one on CCTV was outside a bar. The only one I don't know about was the latest one."

" _He'd been drinking. I could smell it on him."_

"That's one connection, Greg. Alcohol. I never thought he was a problem drinker though…"

" _There might be other links. But this is a good start._ "

"We need to see Mycroft's files. The missing cases. And there's something else. There's a gap of two years where there's nothing. Not redacted, just nothing. Starts after Sherlock's relapse in October 2016. He doesn't seem to get in any more trouble until Switzerland. Ask Mycroft about that, as well. It could be important, Greg."

" _Will do. Thanks, T'éo. Now get some sleep. Goodnight._ "

"Goodnight, Greg."


	7. Blue Charlie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> London
> 
> Lestrade has a bit of luck

The day after Dimmock's phone call, Lestrade has a stroke of luck.

He has been interviewing witnesses to a crime in North Greenwich, and decides on the spur of the moment to go back to the Yard by public transport, rather than getting a lift back with Sally Donovan. It is a bright, calm day, so he decides to cross the river on the cable car. He will be able to get the Docklands Light Railway from the other side. He doesn't mind the extra time and trouble. It will do him good to have his feet on the ground. It is too easy to lose track of things cooped up in a car.

He is about to touch in with his card when he hears running footsteps and a breathless voice behind him.

"Wait up, Mr L."

The voice and the footsteps belong to Ellie, an old friend of Billy's, and the leader of Sherlock's homeless network, if that loose collection of waifs and strays can be said to have a leader.

"Heard you might be looking for something, Mr L. Buy me a ticket across and we can have a chat."

Lestrade buys Ellie a ticket at the booth, and they board the car. The doors close, and the car starts climbing the cable. Lestrade has only been on the cable car a couple of times. He sits back to enjoy the view while he waits for Ellie to talk to him.

"The Doctor had a bit of trouble the other day."

Lestrade hears the capitalisation, knows she means John Watson.

"Did you see it, Ellie?"

"No. But Blue Charlie did. Found something afterwards as well."

"Will he talk to me, Ellie?"

Blue Charlie is notoriously reticent when it comes to helping the police with their enquiries.

"He might talk to _you_ , Mr L. _Only_ you, mind. If I'm with you. And he won't talk about anything else. You'd have to promise not to notice certain things."

"Illegal things, Ellie? I'm not sure I can promise that."

"He ain't done anything, Mr L. Well, he ain't _started_ anything. Nothing that would get you into trouble by turning a blind eye."

"All right. Let's go and see him."

 

 

*********

 

Blue Charlie lives in a squat in Limehouse, in walking distance of the cable car, if you know the shortcuts. Ellie does.

When they arrive, Lestrade waits in a cafe across the road while Ellie goes inside. He knows she is going to warn Charlie to hide anything incriminating. After ten minutes or so, Ellie sticks her head out of Charlie's window and nods at Lestrade, signalling him to come over. He crosses the road and enters the squat.

Charlie has a room on the first floor. Lestrade is surprised to see it has electricity and a working fireplace. It looks clean and tidy, unlike many squats Lestrade has seen.

Blue Charlie is a big man. Not tall, but built like a tank. Lestrade wouldn't fancy fighting with him. He gets his name from the ink that covers almost every inch of visible skin.

"Hello, Charlie. Ellie says you might have something for me."

"I don't want to be named in any reports, Mr Lestrade. I'll talk to you if you keep my name out of it."

"All right. It will be an anonymous call. That do?"

"Yeah. Okay. The Doctor got himself into a bit of bother the other day. Near the cemetery in Highgate. Started mouthing off to a couple of blokes. Looked like trouble, so I kept an eye on him. Didn't want to get involved, you know me. Keep myself to myself, pretty much."

"Did you hear what he said, Charlie?"

"No. I wasn't near enough. I only knew it was him because of the way he walks sometimes. Soldiery. Looked like he started it though. The other blokes were minding their own business. He grabbed hold of one of them, the littler one, and the other bloke pulled him off. Then they started laying into each other. They got him down and I thought they'd knocked him out, so I made myself visible and they ran."

"Did you get a look at them, Charlie?"

"They're a couple. See them now and again, when I'm over that way. Might be locals. Big one's ginger. Looks like a boxer. Broken nose. Little one's blond. Dresses sharp. Someone'll know them, I expect."

"Charlie, if I bring a laptop here, could you help me do a photofit?"

"I don't want to get involved, Mr Lestrade…"

"It would really help."

"Can you keep my name out of it?"

"Yeah. I'll say I'm keeping my source confidential. Ellie said you'd found something?"

"It wasn't really lost. I went over to see if he was all right, and he pulled a gun on me."

Lestrade sucks in a breath. That sounds out of character for John. He generaly has a good relationship with the homeless network. Acts as their unofficial GP. And he would certainly know Blue Charlie.

"Did he fire it?"

"No. He was slow. I kicked it out of his hand. I might have stamped on his hand as well. He passed out, Mr Lestrade. I put his gun in my pocket and picked him up and took him home. Couldn't leave him on the street. Is he okay?"

"Yeah. He phoned me when he came round. He's fine. What happened to the gun?"

Charlie lifts up the corner of his mattress and kicks John's gun out from underneath it.

"I haven't touched it with my hands, Mr Lestrade. It will have his fingerprints on it, I expect. There might be mud off my boot though. It was wet out. I wasn't going to keep it. I told Ellie you'd be interested."

Ellie flushes. Glares at Charlie.

"He didn't tell me it was a _gun_ , Mr L. I'd have looked for you sooner if I'd realised."

Lestrade picks the gun up carefully, using his handkerchief. Gives thanks that he hasn't got out of the habit of carrying evidence bags with him.

"Better late than never. Thanks, both of you."

He searches his pockets, gives them fifty pounds each.

"Charlie, if I need to talk to you again, I'll send a message via Ellie. Thanks again."

When Lestrade leaves Blue Charlie's squat, a big black car is waiting for him.


	8. Played

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> London
> 
> Lestrade and Mycroft have a little chat

Lestrade slides into the back of the car, and is momentarily thrown when he sees the new assistant. _"Of course it's not Anthea"_ he thinks. _"She's probably dead in Switzerland."_ He sighs and scrubs his hands through his hair.

"So what do I call you?"

"Jamie, sir. Mr Holmes would like to speak with you."

"Yeah. The car kind of gives that away."

"Yes, sir."

The car drops Lestrade outside the Diogenes Club, and he makes his way through the silent hallways to the small room that Mycroft habitually uses. It smells of wood polish and leather, whisky and cigarettes.

"You're smoking a lot these days, Mycroft."

"You are not my mother, Gregor. Please resist the personal comments."

"Okay. That's me told off. What can I do for you?"

"How is your investigation proceeding?"

"We were right to bring in Dimmock. He's got a systematic way of working."

"He detected a pattern?"

Mycroft pours good whisky for both of them, passes Lestrade a tumbler. He swirls it around the glass, admires the play of light on the facets of the cut crystal, breathes the aroma before drinking.

"We still need to discuss some gaps, but all the documented cases, and the three most recent undocumented ones, have alcohol as a possible factor."

"Ah. Yes…"

Lestrade knows when he has been played. He'd suspected it was happening, in any case.

"You already knew. You just wanted someone other than you to be the one to point it out. To John? Or to Sherlock?"

"Sherlock believes that I dislike John Watson. Anything I say about him is tainted by that belief."

"Do you dislike him?"

"He would not be my first choice of… associate for my brother. But he is loyal. To a fault, almost."

"Mycroft, Dimmock is concerned about the two-year gap, from 2016, with no incidents. Can I reassure him that there were actually no incidents in that time?"

"You can. There were none in that time. It is interesting that he picked a time of no incidents as the matter worth most consideration."

"He's good. All right. If this were some ordinary perp's file I'd be looking to see if he'd had a short spell inside. But we know Watson didn't. What was different in those two years?"

Mycroft sighs.

"I will give you access to the unredacted file. You, and Theodore, will have to come to my office. I can not allow it out of the building. Warn Theodore that his security status will be changing. He will have papers to sign."

"You're bringing him in?"

"On a limited basis. He has been vetted."

Mycroft offers Lestrade another drink. He shakes his head. As nice as the whisky is, he needs a clear head. He has work to do.

"Why were you visiting the tattooed man?"

"Blue Charlie? He witnessed John taking a beating the other night. The one that made him call me. I need to follow up on his information."

"It would be better if that investigation were done unofficially."

"You want me to hush it up?"

"For now."

"Okay. But I don't like it. Mycroft, I promised Charlie I'd keep him out of it. Don't send your goons around harassing him. We could lose the confidence of the entire homeless network…"

"I will leave him alone, if you are convinced he is trustworthy."

"Ellie trusts him. That'll do me for now. He was the one who took John home. Didn't want to leave him on the street. Oh, and he was the one who kicked John's gun out of his hand. Handed it in to me."

Mycroft looks relieved.

"Some mysteries solved. John did not fire?"

"No."

"Good. I will take the weapon. He no longer has permission to be armed."

"You're really worried…"

"Yes. You will see why when I meet with you and Theodore. I will send a car for you both tomorrow morning."

"Okay. I'll go and warn him."


	9. Too much Gaudi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barcelona
> 
> Billy and Arkady are on the run

It takes Billy and Arkady most of a day to ride through France, passing through Grenoble, Nimes, Narbonne and Perpignan without seeing them.

In Montelimar, Arkady stops at a tiny cafe, where they eat pastries and drink much better hot chocolate than he had been able to make in the hotel bedroom. He buys slabs of nougat to take with them. Sugar for energy, nuts for protein, and Billy might eat them if he eats nothing else.

In Montpelier, they queue at Gasoline for burgers, but Billy doesn't eat more than a couple of bites.

Late in the afternoon, they cross the Pyrenees, the three hundred mile range of mountains dividing France from Spain. Arkady has taken the coast roads all the way, and crosses the mountains at the lowest point, but it is still breathtaking. Billy wants to stop, to look, and Arkady indulges him for just long enough for him to make three sketches. They had left the snow behind them as they travelled south, and the mountains, green on the French side, turn browner and more barren, more dramatic, as they descend into Catalonia.

They ride through Figueres, and stop to eat a late dinner in Girona; pa amb tomaquet, and mar i muntanya. Billy enjoys the meal, laughing for only the second time that day, thinking how Lestrade would have loved to see him peeling and eating the huge prawns. Arkady is happy to see Billy eat at all, happy to see him laughing, even if he doesn't quite understand why. It is the last proper meal he will be able to persuade Billy to eat for a while.

From Girona, it is a short journey to Barcelona, where Arkady books them into a youth hostel.

Billy hates it. He has not been used to being among so many strangers, has not slept in a dormitory since boarding school, and it brings bad memories to the surface. Arkady is surprised at his distress, promises him that they will not stay in a hostel again.

 

 

*********

 

 

Billy is bored. He is tired and hungry as well, but won't admit to either. He is annoyed with Arkady, who he suspects is keeping secrets. Billy saying he is not hungry irritates Arkady, who is trying to keep him safe and well. Billy is glad that Arkady is rattled, feels as if he is getting a little bit of payback.

"Billi, you must eat. You will make yourself ill."

"I'm not hungry. I'm bored. I want to go home."

"You cannot go home yet. I have explained this, many times. I am sorry that you are bored. I thought you would find this city interesting."

"Too much Gaudi."

"Now you are being sulky. It does not suit you. One more day and we can leave."

Arkady is beginning to worry. He sent a message to Mycroft Holmes two days ago, and has not had the expected response. Three days is the maximum amount of time he and Billy can remain here. If nothing happens today they will move on and the waiting will start again in another city.

Billy bites his lip until it bleeds. He is twitchy, and still very scared. So far, he has spent two nights and a day running blindly in Arkady's wake, a morning locked in a hotel bedroom, an afternoon with his scalp burning from bleach and hair dye, terrified he will end up blind from having his eyelashes bleached. He has spent an entire day on the pillion of a motorcycle, unable to breathe, almost, from fear, and the last two days trapped in a youth hostel, sleeping in a bunk bed with his head on his rucksack by night, trawling around cold tourist sights by day. He can't even take photographs of anything vaguely interesting, because Arkady stole his phone and left it to be burned up in Lausanne.

On the first night in Barcelona, Arkady had used the hostel's internet room to go online and leave a message in a chat room he knows Mycroft monitors. He has been waiting for a response ever since.

The next day, they had explored the city. Billy had liked the Casa Battlo, with its tiled roof, looking as if a huge, scaly dragon had taken up residence. He hadn't much liked the Casa Mila, apart from its chimneys, resembling a phalanx of helmeted warriors. He had picked at his dinner, leaving most of it. Later, Arkady had gone online again, but there was still no message from Mycroft. He does not dare to go online a third time from the same IP address.

On day three, they visit La Sagrada Familia, the church that Gaudi began constructing in 1892. Billy thinks it is overworked and ugly, and is surprised to discover that it is not expected to be finished until 2030. They climb the tower, for the view, and Billy notices something that worries him.

"Kady, there's a bloke down there looks very interested in your bike…"

"I see him. We should go down, I think."

 

 

*********

 

"Hello, Billy. Is he looking after you?"

"Yeah. What are you doing here, Shezz? How did you find us?"

Sherlock grins, patting Billy's shoulder. He turns and hugs Arkady, who hugs back, ruffling his hair and kissing his cheek. Billy smiles tightly and doesn't look at them.

"Hello Arkasha. We got your message. I'm sorry I couldn't get here any quicker."

Sherlock looks more closely at Billy.

"You look terrible. Arkasha, what is going on here?"

"He is scared, Vishka. You forget, this is new for him. He is tired because he cannot sleep in a dormitory. I did not realise that would be a problem."

Sherlock hugs Billy.

"You'll need to learn to sleep whenever and wherever you get the chance to, Billy. Trust this man to watch out for you."

"Yeah. Trust the spook that won't tell me anything, and who keeps secrets. And steals my phone. Right."

Arkady shrugs.

"You see? He is sulky. And he will not eat."

"It's a family trait…"

"Family? You are related?"

"Yes. Ask him to explain later. It's his story."

"Da. I am sure it will be very interesting. Do you have anything for me?"

Sherlock takes a phone from his pocket and hands it over.

"Secure phone for you, Arkasha. Mycroft extracted your data from the cloud. Billy, I can't give you a phone…"

"There's a surprise."

"Billy, you are not used to covert operations. You could inadvertently endanger yourself and Arkady if you make calls or send messages. What I can give you is this…"

He hands Billy an iPod touch, and a set of earbuds.

"You can take pictures and play music. Your playlists and some photographs are already loaded. Some applications as well. Browsing is blocked, and so are things like Skype, Facebook and so on. It won't allow you to contact anyone, but it is better than nothing. You can charge it from that monster of a motorcycle."

Billy smiles. He hasn't told Arkady how much he has missed music.

Sherlock pats his shoulder again and turns to Arkady.

"GPS is disabled in both devices. Arkasha, I have taken the liberty of checking you out of your hostel. Do not go back there, and leave Barcelona today."

Billy looks worriedly at Sherlock.

"Shezz, I saw the explosion. It looked really bad. Does Greg know I'm alive?"

"Yes. Mycroft got your ATM message and passed it on. Lestrade is looking after your guitar. The case was ruined of course, but it protected the instrument. There is a little scorching, but no real damage. We found the picture you drew. The nudes."

"It didn't get burned?" Billy blushes. "Did he like it?"

"Yes. He liked it very much."

Sherlock takes another careful look at Billy.

"You look a bit more cheerful now. I think I like the red hair. Arkasha is really doing his best for you. Trust him. He can't help being a…spook. It's his job."

"I know. I'm just so scared."

"You will learn how to cope with that. I need to take a picture of you both, so that Mycroft knows what you look like now. Will you pose for me?"

Arkady throws one leg over the saddle of the motorcycle, beckons Billy over, puts an arm around his waist. Billy leans on him, rests one elbow on his shoulder. Arkady tickles him and he laughs into the cameraphone lens. They look like tourists, with La Sagrada Familia in the background.

"I'm sure Mycroft will show this to Lestrade and Theo. They will all be pleased to see you in one piece."

"Theo? Theo's back?"

"Ah. Yes. He's working on something for Mycroft. He's staying on your boat for a while. I hope you don't mind?"

"No. It's fine. He knows what not to touch. Warn him about the cameras."

Billy smiles faintly

"He'll be company for Greg…"

Sherlock smiles.

"Don't worry about Lestrade, Billy. Mycroft is keeping him busy. Now, I need to be going, and so do you. Good luck. And listen to Arkasha. He really does know what he is doing."

Sherlock folds his collar up and walks away, coat swirling. Arkady laughs.

"So dramatic. Come, Billi. Put your jacket and helmet on. We must go."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pa amb tomaquet: bread rubbed with fresh tomatoes and drizzled with oil and salt. 
> 
> Mar i muntanya, "sea and mountain": chicken with prawns - the Catalan version of "surf and turf".


	10. On the road again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barcelona
> 
> Billy and Arkady prepare for a trip

"We will need to decide what we really need to keep and what we can discard."

Billy looks questioningly at Arkady. 

"Why? There's still some room in the panniers…"

"There is not much, and we need to make space for a tent, sleeping bags, a camping stove and pots…"

"Oh. I want to keep our coats. I've already lost one, and vintage greatcoats are really hard to get. I love your fur as well. And I want to keep my sketchbook and pencils."

"Your sketchbook, yes. The coats…I think you are being sentimental."

"Get rid of mine then. I want to keep yours. Even if it is sentimental. We can use it as an extra layer to sleep under. We haven't got much, Kady. We need to keep the first aid kit, and our clothes. What would you keep if you were on your own?"

"A sweater. Spare underpants and t-shirt. Two of each. Spare socks. A small towel. Soap, razor blades, surgical glue. My gun, ammunition, multi tool, credit card, cash, phone, passport."

"I forgot about towels."

"A traveller should always carry a towel."

"I'm wearing your sweater…Kady, all your other stuff would fit in your pockets."

"Da. I travel light. My coat acts as a blanket. When my jeans become disgusting I buy new ones and throw the old ones away." 

Arkady laughs at Billy's shocked expression. Billy showers as often as he can. Two, sometimes three times a day. He has done ever since Greg Lestrade rescued him from a squat in Camden, years ago. The thought of wearing a pair of jeans until they are so disgusting they have to be thrown away makes him feel ill.

"I will get you a bigger backpack. We will make room for a pair of your skinny jeans."

In the end, they discard their spare shoes, reasoning that motorcycle boots are acceptable footwear for most places. Billy's coat gets discarded too. This will be the second vintage greatcoat he has lost. Arkady sees how much it upsets him and makes him an outright gift of his fur. They add their pyjama trousers to the 'discards' pile; they can sleep in underwear; Billy gives up three of his grandad vests, Arkady making him keep the plainest ones, and he keeps his spare jeans and thin cashmere jumper. Billy is relieved to see Arkady packing spare jeans for himself.

The tent Arkady buys is very small and light. Modern, one piece, with no metal poles. It is an inflatable igloo, with a built in air bed for a floor, like a tiny bouncy castle. They have a long debate about sleeping bags. In the end, Billy's height is the deciding factor. He will have to sleep with his knees bent if he is to keep his shoulders covered. A double sleeping bag will allow him to do that, where a single would not. Arkady is a little concerned about sharing, but doesn't voice his worries. 

"We will not sleep in the tent every night, Billi. But I promise you that you will not have to sleep in a hostel dormitory again. This way, if we cannot find somewhere with private rooms, we have an alternative."

They load everything on to the Harley Davidson, and Arkady mounts up. 

"Where do you want to go?"

"Haven't you got it planned already?"

"We must move from here, and arrive somewhere else, on a certain day. We can take time to be tourists in between. We must not seem to take a direct route."

"Too cryptic. Of course you've got a plan. Don't know why I bothered asking. Bilbao. I'd like to see the Guggenheim. I've been to the one in Venice."

Arkady checks the best route online.

"It will take most of the day to get there. If we start now, you can see the museum tomorrow."

"Thanks, Kady. I'm sorry if I've been shitty to you the last couple of days."

"You have been afraid. It will get easier to cope with."

"Yeah. I'll try to behave myself."

Billy climbs into the pillion seat, holds on to Arkady's waist. Arkady looks over his shoulder, checks that Billy is settled. 

"I know you will. Bilbao, then?"

"Yeah. Bilbao."


	11. Portcullis House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimmock gets a briefing

When Lestrade slides into the back seat of Mycroft's car, Dimmock is already there, looking apprehensive.

"Morning, T."

"Thanks for the heads-up, Greg. This would have had me worried…"

"You still look worried."

Dimmock manages to produce a faint half-smile.

"I haven't seen him for a long time. Not since I went to Manchester."

"Lucky you." Lestrade laughs, bitterly. "He's come close to destroying my life these last few weeks. Might still do, yet."

"Can you talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay."

They lapse into silence as the car idles through the rush hour traffic on its way to Westminster. Lestrade is surprised when the driver takes the entrance tunnel to Portcullis House. " _Mycroft must have a new office_ ", he thinks.

Jamie, Mycroft's assistant, signs the two detectives in and makes sure their visitors' badges are displayed prominently on their lapels before leading them to the lift. Dimmock raises an eyebrow at Lestrade, clearly expecting him to ask if they can use the stairs. Lestrade grits his teeth. He has had therapy to help him deal with his claustrophobia. He isn't going to show weakness.

It is not long before Jamie is opening the door to Mycroft's office and gesturing them inside.

"I will not be needing you for the rest of the day, Jamie. Please have lunch for three sent up at 1.30. I will call you when my guests are ready to leave. You may go."

Jamie looks surprised at the dismissal, but leaves without comment, closing the door behind him.

Mycroft offers tea, pouring into bone china cups. Lestrade looks out of the window as he drinks. The Houses of Parliament, just opposite, dominate the view, and he can see along the river almost to Vauxhall, where he had expected to be taken today.

Mycroft speaks quietly to Dimmock, explaining his new role as a covert operative, and the impact that could have on his life, before handing over papers for Dimmock's signature. Once the papers are locked away safely in a drawer, he turns his attention to Lestrade.

"Gregor, I have had a report from Sherlock this morning. Major Yegorov and Dr Wiggins are in Barcelona."

"What's in Barcelona?"

"A great many things to interest a young, artistic tourist. There is a picture…"

He hands an iPad to Lestrade, who laughs, bitterly.

"How can I compete with _that_?"

Dimmock looks over his shoulder.

"Blimey, Greg. He looks like you when I first met you."

The picture is of a man who could be Lestrade's younger brother, astride a red Harley Davidson motorcycle. Standing beside him, elbow on his shoulder, laughing, is a tall redhead in tight black leather trousers and an oatmeal jumper. The motorcycle rider has his arm around the redhead's waist.

Lestrade frowns 

"They've both dyed their hair."

Dimmock likes what he sees in the picture. Likes Billy's red hair, and the leather trousers. Likes the look of Arkady, too.

"Is that Yegorov? He's pretty. What colour is his hair naturally?"

"White blond. Blue eyes. Don't fall in love, Theo. Looks like he's taken."

"He is looking after Bill, Gregor." Mycroft tries to sound sympathetic. "He is playing a role."

"He might be. Not so sure Bill is."

"At least you know he is safe. Arkady has a phone now and will contact us if there is need. He will not call otherwise. I will give you his number, but please do not call him unless it is an absolute emergency. He needs to keep as low a profile as possible. I need not remind you that any calls you make or receive will be on your secure phone…"

Lestrade nods.

"Has Bill got a phone?"

"No. He is not used to covert operations. It is better that he does not have one, for now. Gregor, he is under immense stress. He has learned some things about himself that may have thrown his belief in you as his friend into doubt…"

"I got an inkling of that before I left Lausanne. Sherlock told him I'd been observing him covertly for years. He thinks I've been…"

He chokes, can't get the words out. Dimmock steps in.

"When he came back from Canada, he honestly didn't think he'd ever see you again, Greg. If Sherlock told him you'd been his handler, he might think you'd been instructed to try to get back together with him."

Dimmock looks at Mycroft. Sees pain on the man's face.

"Why would he have needed protecting then, Mycroft? Why does he need protecting now? Knox is dead…"

"Knox was working for someone who is very much alive. Someone who, sadly, does not bear goodwill towards Bill."

Mycroft opens a drawer and takes out copies of a file, which he hands to Lestrade and Dimmock, gesturing to them to sit and read.

"You know some of this, Gregor. But not all of it."

The two detectives read through the files. Lestrade is first to speak.

"Does Bill know all this?"

Mycroft nods.

"And Arkady?"

"Arkady has a redacted version. Siger is not named, you are not named, I am not named. The incident with Francis Knox is redacted, to protect you, Gregor. Of course, Bill might have filled in blanks if Arkady has questioned him."

Dimmock looks unhappily at Mycroft.

"He'll think I was still observing him when we were dating, won't he?"

"It is possible, Theodore."

"He won't be able to trust anyone…"

Lestrade smiles grimly.

"He'll be able to trust Arkady. He knows he's his minder, right from the start. There's no question of him being a friend, or boyfriend that's hiding things from him."

"But I wasn't observing him, Greg. Not once my contract was finished."

"He'll think you were. He'll think I was, as well. And I wasn't, either. Well, not officially, not after Knox sliced me up. Who was it, Mycroft?"

"There were a number of people. Obviously, Theodore to begin with. Sherlock, for a time. Anthea. Others I prefer not to name."

Dimmock gives an exasperated sigh.

"But why is he on the run, Mycroft? Why does he need a handler? I know he's your brother, and I think what you and Sherlock did in leaving him on the streets all that time was shitty, but it doesn't explain this…"

"He has something that someone wants."

"What? What has he got, and who wants it?"

Realisation dawns on Lestrade's face.

"He's got healthy X chromosomes. That's what Siger wants. That's what you wanted. That's why Leppälä was in Lausanne. The second ovary was a big bonus, wasn't it? Siger didn't know about that. Leppälä didn't know about it, either. Did Anthea know?"

"Queenie had access to the papers Bill read. It is possible she discussed them with Anthea."

"Anthea would have realised what the Clomiphene was for. You slipped up, Mycroft. Did Anthea get away?"

"She has not been identified as being among the bodies. A cryogenic storage flask is also missing."

Dimmock is out of his depth. He has no idea what this conversation is about now.

"I'll fill you in later, T'éo. If that's all right, Mycroft?"

Mycroft nods. Lestrade carries on, thinking aloud.

"So, what have we got? One, Anthea got away on her own. Unlikely, she would have contacted you. Two, Anthea got away with a flask and is hiding out with it. Why would she do that?"

"According to Queenie, and to Bill, Anthea has an intense desire to have a child. She might want to use the material in the flask to impregnate herself…"

"What was in the flask? Sperm samples?"

"Possibly. Or embryos. Presumably not ova. There is no way to be sure. The fire damage in the lab destroyed the contents of the flasks that were left. We know only that the flask found with Queenie was embryos."

"From one sperm donor?"

"No. From all the donors. To avoid the loss of all the embryos with a single father if a flask failed…"

"Who were the donors, out of curiosity? I know I was one. You? Sherlock?"

"No. Sherlock and I both have the problem X chromosome. That is why Billy's genes are so important. The other donors were John Watson, Arkady Yegorov, Kristof Leppälä and Jack Logan. I took Jack's sample with me to Lausanne."

Dimmock looks up from the file he is studying, and smiles.

"Are you and Jackie still seeing each other, Mycroft?"

"Yes, Theodore. But not as frequently as I would like, just lately."

Lestrade taps his teeth with his pen.

"Losing track, here. So scenarios three and four, Anthea went willingly with Siger, with the flask, or was taken away with the flask. I'm going to assume it was embryos. I can't see any reason why Siger would take a flask of sperm samples."

"Unless he thought it was Billy's sperm."

"Billy didn't donate. Leppälä said you'd insisted he shouldn't."

"Yes. The embryos are all from Billy's ova. It would not be appropriate for him to be both mother _and_ father to a child."

Dimmock frowns.

"What? How?"

Lestrade grimaces.

"I'll tell you later, T. It's complicated. Mycroft, could Leppälä have been Siger's contact?"

"It is possible. It is also possible that Anthea was, or Queenie, or any one of a number of other people. I am fairly sure it wasn't you, Gregor. Or Arkady, or Billy. It was not me, and I feel certain it was not Sherlock."

"You've got Sherlock looking for Anthea?"

"Yes. And Siger is still looking for Billy."


	12. Portcullis House part 2

Over a lunch of sandwiches and fresh fruit, Lestrade and Mycroft explain the phenomenon of human chimerism to Dimmock. Mycroft gives him a copy of the case study Billy had shown Lestrade in Lausanne. Dimmock finds it fascinating, and immediately understands the implications for a family on the verge of dying out, but is perturbed to be given such intimate medical information about someone he thinks of as a friend.

"Why are you telling me all this, Mycroft?"

"Bill's uniqueness has already put him in danger. If you are to be guarding him, you will do the job better if you know as much as possible about him."

" _Am_ I going to be guarding him again?"

"It is possible."

*********

After lunch, Mycroft brings them back to focus on the real reason for their being in Portcullis House.

"Dr Watson was thrown into a state of shock when Sherlock came back from Serbia in the December of 2013. Gregor, do you remember the events of that time clearly?"

Lestrade thinks back.

"Sherlock didn't know John was in my house when he broke in. He didn't know Billy and I had got engaged. You were at Jack's place, Mycroft. You must have known what he was up to…"

"Yes. He told me he was going to see you. I assumed that he would also see Bill and John."

"I woke up and got the shock of my life. He was clinging on to me, trying to keep me from getting up. I punched him. I'm ashamed of that now, but at the time, I was frantic over Billy. Sherlock was really scarred up. Still had some open wounds. I left him for John to sort out and dashed over to try to talk to Billy. Billy clocked me one. Broke his finger on my jaw…"

"Yes. I recall Dr Watson tended to your injuries and Billy's, while ignoring Sherlock's."

"John had definitely hit him. I remember thinking my punch couldn't have caused all that damage. You let slip that you'd known he wasn't dead. That really upset John, I remember. "

"Yes. That was when the second incident occurred. We put it down to the shock of Sherlock's return."

Lestrade frowns.

"What was the _first_ incident?"

"It was long before. A bar brawl, the day after Sherlock's…funeral. It was contained, and not reported to the police. John deliberately provoked a fight. He sustained some injuries. That was put down to shock and distress. I was not surprised at his reaction to those events…"

"It might not be connected." Dimmock frowns. "Not with such a big gap."

Mycroft shakes his head

"The behaviour, the _symptoms_ , are too similar."

"So what you're saying is that he gets drunk, beats someone up, or provokes someone into beating him up, then just forgets it all?"

"Not precisely. Extreme anxiety is always involved. there is a suggestion that the combination of the anxiety, the alcohol and the adrenaline produced in a fight situation produces a state of syncope. He falls unconscious, sometimes very briefly, and wakes up with no recollection of what happened."

Dimmock hmphs.

"That's pretty much the conclusion we drew. Anxiety, stress, drink, violence. We didn't know about the syncope reaction. What happened in the two years when there were no incidents?"

"He had treatment for alcohol abuse, which he himself agreed was becoming a problem for him."

"His sister was an alcoholic…"

"As was his father."

"So there were drunken episodes that he _did_ remember?"

"Yes. Where there was no anxiety factor. There were enough for him to agree to treatment. He was put on a regime of Antabuse, disulfiram, a drug which causes very unpleasant symptoms if alcohol is consumed by someone taking it."

"So he had two years of no drinking. What changed? What's started him off again?"

"The drug can cause seizures. Unfortunately, it did. It also had the added side-effect of personality change and additional memory impairment. He had to be taken off it."

"And the drinking, and the incidents started again."

"Yes. And the anxiety attacks are becoming more frequent."

Lestrade pinches the bridge of his nose, breathes out heavily.

"Okay. I don't like that you've covered all this up, Mycroft."

"Victims have been compensated. Usually the syncope reaction occurs before too much damage has been done."

Dimmock has been watching Mycroft carefully.

"I didn't feel very compensated…"

"Someone has been pushing for further negotiation on your behalf, Theodore."

Dimmock snorts, glares at Lestrade, who affects an air of innocence.

"You're nervous, Mycroft. What's in the big redacted period?"

Mycroft sighs, crosses to a cabinet and brings out a bottle of whisky and three glasses. He pours for the three of them, drinking his own measure quickly, and pouring another.

"Sherlock was shot. He came very close to death, and was hospitalised for a long time. The gun was wielded by Mary Watson."

"What?" Lestrade is flabbergasted. "John's wife? That Mary Watson?"

"Yes. He was shot in the chest. He knew who had done it. It set in train a series of events which have been very difficult to contain, including Sherlock's inexplicable attempt to hide the identity of his assailant. He hid it well. It was a long time before I made the connection."

"Go on, Mycroft."

Mycroft's lips are tight.

"Mary Watson was an assassin. Why she chose to take up with John is beyond me, but that choice was a mistake on her part. She tried to hold on to him after Sherlock's return. The pregnancy was apparently part of her strategy. That part failed when she lost the child. Shooting Sherlock obviously did not help her either."

He continues, speaking rapidly

"You have heard of Charles Magnussen, the newspaper magnate?"

Both detectives nod.

"Magnussen had information pertaining to her previous life. She wanted to recover her files from him, and Sherlock agreed to help her. Unfortunately, the files did not exist. Magnussen had an eidetic memory, and kept everything in his head. Sherlock shot and killed Magnussen, in front of witnesses, in order to protect the woman who had tried to kill him."

"Where is she now?"

"That information is top secret, Gregor. I cannot tell you."

"If there were witnesses, why haven't there been consequences for Sherlock?"

"There _were_ witnesses, including myself and John Watson. And there were consequences. Sherlock was held in a secure facility until I was able to negotiate a deal for him. He was to be sent to Eastern Europe, with little chance of surviving the mission. Our old friend Moriarty's apparent return interrupted the trip, and Sherlock was recalled. He is still on licence, Gregor, which is why most of his work for the last few years has been for me, and why he works very few active cases for you now. John went completely off the rails, and also had to be held in close confinement for a time."

Lestrade grimaces.

"You told me they were both out of the country…"

Dimmock and Lestrade both sit quietly, nursing their drinks. Lestrade breaks the silence first.

"How does this connect to Billy?"

"Sherlock seems to have a blind spot when it comes to John. He either refuses to accept, or more likely chooses to set aside, _delete_ , the evidence that John has a serious problem. He wants to make him happy. John was very upset when Mary miscarried. Sherlock thinks a child might help him."

"No, Mycroft. He can't…" Lestrade is appalled. "He wouldn't be safe around a baby. Not if he's this unstable."

"I agree completely. Even without his instability, two generations of alcoholism in the family would be a contraindication. Of course, the chance of any Holmes child being born at all now is decreasing as time passes. The matter may become academic."

Dimmock sniffs.

"He should be locked up."

Mycroft smiles tightly.

"He is in hospital  at present, Theodore. he will stay there until Sherlock returns from Europe."

He finishes his second drink.

"John is very unstable. The slightest stress is enough to set him drinking, and he can hardly cope at all with the stress of Sherlock working overseas. Sherlock has been covering up for him, trying to keep him calm. He is now refusing nearly every mission that will take him out of John's vicinity. His freedom on licence is in danger of being reconsidered. He could end up being imprisoned for a very long time."

Lestrade smiles grimly. "You needed us involved so we can work on Sherlock for you. But he's out of the country now…"

"Yes, Gregor. But this mission is personal. He could not refuse it. And you see how John has reacted to him being away."

Mycroft grimaces.

"There was no real need for John to go to Siberia. The original plan was for Sherlock to meet Arkady Yegorov in Yekaterinburg and travel on with him. Sherlock vetoed that because he feared John's reaction. In consequence, he was in Lausanne when Leppälä needed sperm samples. Sherlock insisted on him being included in the donor group."

Mycroft looks as miserable as Lestrade has ever seen him look.

"I do not know how to proceed."

Dimmock smiles.

"I do."

Mycroft looks at him sharply.

"Think, Mycroft. You have a brilliant scientist for a brother. One who developed a brand new analgesic, all by himself, _when he was twenty one_. One who knows brain chemistry, understands addiction, and is swanning around Spain on a motorbike. He must be bored out of his skull. _He's a research scientist_. He knows the pharmaceutical research community. He'll know people that know ground level stuff, stuff your contacts won't  be aware of.  He'll know what's bubbling under in the drugs development fields, stuff that's in early stages, not published yet. He'll know if there's any new alcoholism treatments being worked on. Use his knowledge. Get him working. He might even have another breakthrough for you."

Lestrade looks at Dimmock.

"He's not that clever, T…" 

"You don't want him to be, Greg. You think of him as a flaky student who can't look after himself."

"He lets people take advantage of him. He hasn't got any defence mechanisms. He's frightened of thunder…"

Dimmock sighs.

"I'm not sure you really want him to grow up. You want to take care of him, Greg. Keep him as your Billy. Maybe it's because of your age difference. But he's not a kid. He's thirty one, and he terrifies me, he's so clever." He turns to Mycroft. "Bring him home."

Mycroft frowns.

"Research like this can take years, Theodore."

"And you need to do something in the short term. I know."

"In any case, it would not be safe to bring him home yet. There is still a great deal of danger from Siger Holmes." Mycroft collects up the files, locks them away. "But, yes, there may be something 'bubbling under' as you put it. You have given me something to think about, Theodore. Thank you."

Lestrade coughs.

"You mentioned 'negotiation' earlier, Mycroft …"

"Yes. I believe a return to New Scotland Yard was one bargaining point."

Dimmock blinks. Smiles.

"Good. I want that. And I want _full_ DI responsibilities. And an office. I don't want to be subordinate to Tobias Gregson."

"I am sure that can all be arranged. You will of course be subordinate to DCI Lestrade…"

Lestrade snorts

"Insubordinate, more like."

Dimmock grins.

"I'll need to look for somewhere to live."

Mycroft avoids Dimmock's gaze.

"There is a property in Tobacco Dock which is due to become vacant in two months…"

Dimmock raises an eyebrow.

"It wouldn't be _my_ old property, would it? You sneaky…"

Mycroft looks a little uncomfortable.

"Your property was purchased by an agency I have connections to, Theodore. It has been used by occasional visitors from overseas, and has been well maintained. If you want to buy it back, I am sure advantageous terms can be arranged. In the meantime, I am sure Bill will not mind if you continue to live aboard the SeaGlass."

Lestrade frowns.

"Two months? Mycroft, is Billy going to be away that long?"

"Gregor, Bill cannot return while Siger is at large. I have no way of knowing how long he will be away. It might be for a much more extended period. And Arkady will not cosset him. He is likely to return somewhat tougher than he started out."


	13. Need to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turin
> 
> Anthea goes undercover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, women sometimes menstruate. Sometimes they shop, sometimes they like chocolate. If these things offend you, scroll down to the end notes.

Anthea's bladder wakes her up. She groans as her stomach cramps. _That doesn't feel good._ She goes to the bathroom, pees and wipes. _Blood_.

"Damn."

 

*********

 

"Are you all right?" Giulia smiles. "You look a bit peaky".

"Time of the month. Could do without it right now. Bit low on supplies…"

"I've got some I can let you have, till we get to somewhere we can stock up."

"Thanks. Any idea when that might be?"

"Couple of hours." Guilia giggles. "There's bound to be a chemist's open. Let's go shopping."

 

*********

 

Anthea sighs with satisfaction as she finishes her bicerin, a layered drink made with coffee, chocolate, and cream. She gazes out of the cafe window for a moment before turning back to her companion.

"I could drink another one of those, but I'd end up as big as a house."

"They're good, aren't they? I heard that they invented chocolate here. At least, the kind that comes in bars. There's a chocolate festival later this month. We should go to it if we're still here."

"Are we really going to hang around here? My feet will get itchy."

"Mm. We'll need to keep busy. The house could do with decorating…"

"What?"

Giulia laughs

"Good cover. Posh totty getting the house ready for the summer. You're a bit posher than me, of course, but I scrub up all right."

Anthea looks appraisingly at Giulia. She _does_ scrub up all right. All blonde hair and dimples and bright red coat. She grimaces at her own jeans and cagoule. Giulia notices the comparing glance.

"We'll need to get you some clothes. You didn't bring much. "

"I was in a bit of a hurry."

"Mm. Yes. It all happened a bit quicker than I expected. Let's go and spend some money."

 

*********

 

Anthea hums. Clean hair and designer clothes can do a lot to improve a mood. She laughs at herself. " _You are so shallow, Helene._ " Her stomach cramps haven't got any worse. She should be able to sleep comfortably tonight.

She had been surprised when Giulia Murtas arrived to evacuate her from the complex in Lausanne. She knew her, of course, although not well, and not under that name. She had brought Anthea new papers, a new ID; Elena Sinagra, an old school friend of Giulia's. Anthea had worried about leaving Queenie behind, but she had done her best to ensure her survival. 

She hadnt been surprised at the three days of chalet-hopping in Switzerland, and had actually enjoyed the one day spent on skis. She had expected to eventually be taken to some sort of base camp, not a pretty house on the outskirts of Turin.

Anthea is used to operating under cover, used to working in very small cells, so being in a team of two does not surprise her. What _does_ surprise her is going so deep under cover that she is effectively not operating at all.

She sighs. Undercover work is all very well, but she doesn't like to be out of contact for too long. Not for the first time, she wishes she hadn't been instructed to run dark. Giulia has checked in, though, and has had a report on Queenie's condition. Anthea hopes she isn't feeling too miserable. Burns, even superficial ones, are painful. She hopes it won't be too long before she can see her again.

 

*********

 

"So, what happens now?"

"We wait."

"That's all?"

"Need to know, love."

"And I don't?"

"Not everything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of the first week after the attack on Lausanne. We know who survived, where they are and what they are doing. The next story will pick them all up a little later.


End file.
